Nations Never Die: Acadia
by Marigold-Scented-Candle
Summary: more then that She understands all of the sudden that she is a nation, a land represented in a human body... And most of all she understands that she has finally been born fully into the world. Acadia OC
1. Birth

**My not so amazing French rears it's head once again. Thanks so much kitaklaw for the French corrections! **

**So basically, in my head cannon, Nations who do not have a mother and father nation (who are born like human babies) gain their senses one by one, just like humans do while in the womb, except you know... outside the womb... Yeah. Sounds kinda strange when I write it out, but whatever. **

**Either way, this is my piece for the first prompt for nations never die on deviantart . **

**It's an awesome group, that I really suggest checking it out. All the writers and artists are super talented, so I'm super honored that I got to join!**

The first sense that came to her was hearing. From within her there was a constant rhythm of thumps that marked time. There was also a soft, if slightly less constant hush. There were other sounds too, quite like the hush from her chest, fainter ones, sometimes accompanied by rustling sounds, but sometimes these soft sounds morphed into howls. They came and went, like the little pitter-patters. Sometimes they last for more time then she cares to keep track of. Sometimes they passed by her quickly, faint, loud then faint once again. Other sounds came only from herown mind. Sounds like heartbeat, breath, breeze, rain, animal. Sometimes she can correlate the sounds her mind calls "words" with the sounds from outside; other times, the words are slippery and clumsy, they slip from her mind before they can come forth from her in what her mind calls a "voice". Animal in particularly is hard, because the pitter-patter of an animal is just like rain's pitter patter at first.

The second sense is touch. Now heartbeat is accompanied by a little push within her chest. A pulse that travels from her center to the farthest reaches of her body. This new thing is something her mind calls a feeling. the feeling a thump. Breeze and breath tickle her skin, they are soft and insubstantial, but also rather pleasant. Breath also causes something within her to fill and empty, which causes her outside to move as well and mind says that this is kind is called rise and fall. Touch also solidifies the animal in her mind. They are part soft (mind says this feeling is called fur) and part hard (mind says claws sometimes, teeth at others. Those words slip from her often). However Rain's touch is odd. The initial tap is quick, and it leaves a slick something on her skin, but after rain is gone it lingers against her. Her mind calls rain, wet and the little after rain damp. Then far after rain is no longer there, and she is dry.

The third sense is sight. It is easily the most enlightening, and infuriating sense yet. Whereas, all her other senses had come in a sudden moment. One moment without feeling, the next moment with it. Sight came in steps. Waiting with an incomplete sense was probably the most unpleasant feeling. Her mind calls the annoying tightness and just ready to burst feeling impatience.

The first bit of sight that she receives is something called light and dark. Light comes from something called "sun" and when the light hits leaves that have yet to fall and what they are attached to (this is called a tree) it creates something that is "dark" called a shadow. Some shadows move along with the leaves, others only move when the sun moves across the thing her mind calls sky. That movement of the sun is called day. The beginning of the day is sunrise, the end is sunset. After the sun goes away, a dim thing rises in it's place, and this is called "moon" the little bits of light that shine in the dark sky are "stars". In winter the nights are long, and in the summer the opposite is true.

The second thing that sight gives her is shape. Parts of trees are thick and cylindrical (this is called tree trunk) and other parts extend from it, thick at their beginnings, and spindly at their ends. These are branches, and leaves are attached to them. Leaves themselves come in many shapes, but she is given no words for the irregular shapes. Rain starts as something called a droplet, but when they hit her, or the ground (which is something called flat) the shape is lost. Her body too is made of shapes, these are called arms legs fingers toes head hands and feet.

The third and final part of sight is called color. It is almost overwhelming. The world is filled with so many colors! Her body is called tan, her hair called brown. The ground and trees are called brown as well, but they are different browns. These different kinds of browns are called shades. Leaves are green in spring and summer, but in fall they turn slowly into beautiful shades of red, yellow and orange. When they fall to the ground they are brown as well. Sky is blue when it is not raining, and sometimes there are strangely shaped white things called clouds. When it rains the sky is filled with gray. The sky is by far the most beautiful during sunset and sunrise. The sun is red , the sky is yellow , orange , blue , and purple all at the same time. The display makes water run down her cheeks every time. The water from her own body is called tears. They can signify a feeling called happy, but can also signify it's opposite, sad.

The fourth sense is smell. Now she can smell the ground. This scent is called earthy. The breeze caries the sweet smell of flowers, berries, and rain smells soft and damp. There are many scents every day; they are hard to describe, and so a lot of the time she doesn't pay attention to it.

The fifth sense that comes to her is balance. This sense gives her for the first time, the ability to move just like leaves and animals. At first she can only wiggle her fingers and toes, move her head from time to time. Eventually she can sit up on her own, as well as bend her arms and legs. After sitting up she learns to move on all fours like the animals, but her mind tugs at her, and tells her that this is not how she should be moving.

You have to legs it tells her

You must use them properly It says

She wonders what properly is and why moving on all four of her limbs is so terrible, but non-withstanding, she does notice something. The end of every animal's leg is the same. Paws. But she has hands and feet. Hands can grab things whereas feet cannot. So hands and feet didn't have the same function. If hands were meant for grabbing, then what were feet for?

It is at this time she learns to kneel. Kneeling is when she balances on the halfway point of her legs called knees, and her hands don't touch the ground. She got the idea from seeing an animal go up on its back legs. But then something occurs to her; her hands are able to grab, but her feet cannot. That must mean that they have some other purpose. Then she does something on something called an impulse. She moves her hip so her foot is flat against the ground. Now it is a simple push to get her other foot on the ground and-

Oh! she was on the ground again? Well... not exactly... she is still on her feet, but she barely has any weight on them. She is pressed against a tree; the rough bark has made her skin break and red leaks through. It's not a nice feeling. It is sharp, and the red liquid smells strange. Sharp and scary. This liquid is blood. The feeling is pain. The action that caused it was tripping; the confusing moment that had been too quick for her to comprehend what was happening was called falling. But for some reason she tries walking again, this time just around the tree so that she has something to lean against in case she falls again.

Eventually she trusts her legs enough to take her to one of the berry bushes. She's wondered for quite awhile what berries felt like. These ones were soft, and when she squeezed them red liquid came and stained her hand pink. The red stuff is called juice, and this particular berry is called raspberry. The juice makes her hands rather sticky, so (once again) on impulse she drags her tounge across her stained skin.

This is how she discovers her favorite sense. Taste. Berries are wonderful against her taste buds, and her mind calls that feeling tangy. Tears are salty. But this introduces hunger, and thirst. She does not want to leave the clearing where she has lived her entire life so far, but there isn't water enough or berries enough to satisfy her here. A couple of tears run down her cheeks as she looses sight of the clearing, but the sadness is slowly replaced by curiosity at the new types of trees, berries,grasses and animals she finds as she wanders.

This is when she learns the harshness of hunger in winter. There are no berries to eat, and food is scarce. She learns to hunt, and she learns to gather and store while food is plentiful. This is called preparing.

Another curiosity is when she finds another like herself. he is taller, and his hair looks like sunlight and eyes like the sky. He is called France or sometimes Papa. He is called a boy, whereas she is a girl. His hair settles just above his shoulders, a clean scent emanates from the sun colored locks, and they sway animatedly with his movements. So much unlike her own which hangs around her, limp and dirty. That is until he shows her something called a bath, and he runs something through her hair called a comb, which takes away all the "knots". After the bath, and the hair combing, her hair bounces and shines like his, and she wraps her arms around him, (this, she is told is called a hug). She likes hugs quite a lot, even if they do make her feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, and she receives many of them from France.

France travels with another boy, a smaller one. He is called Canada, but he is also called brother. He has wonderful eyes that remind her of the sky just as the sun disappears, a wonderful shade of dark purple. He tells her that their eyes are the same color, but she cannot believe that her eyes could ever be half as wonderful. But since Canada insists, she decides that she may as well hope that he is telling the truth. His hair is between her brown and France's pale blonde, and it bounces and frames his face in a way that simply makes her heart melt inside of her. Her mind calls this sensation love. She feels it around France sometimes, but the feeling isn't quite as strong around him as Canada.

Then there is a last curiosity. France is France, or Papa, even sometimes Francis, Canada is Canada, or Frère, or Matthieu, but her mind has given her no word to describe herself as of yet.

"Papa?"

"Oui Chérie?" (Yes dear?)

"What am I?" France blinked.

"What do you mean by that?" She pouted.

"J'ai des mots pour vous appellez, et j'ai des mots pour appeller Canada, mais tu m'appelles 'chèrie' seulment... est qu'il y a un mot pour m'appelles?" (I have words to call you, and I have words to call Canada, but you only call me 'chérie'... is there a word to call me?)

"Tu veux un nom?" (You want a name?) Her mind tells her that yes, name is a word that you can call yourself, and a way to tell others who you are. This is what she was looking for, so she nods vigorously.

"Hm... D'accord... un nom pour toi... Est-ce que tu aimes le nom Acadie?" (Alright... a name for you.. do you like the name Acadia?)

Acadie. That feels right against her tongue... so very right. It is the easiest word that she has ever learned. There is no moment of struggle in it's pronunciation, and it cements automatically in her mind. It is at this moment that she realizes that she is complete. That there is much growing, but no more basics to gain. no more senses to discover, and more then that She understands all of the sudden that she is a nation, a land represented in a human body...

And most of all she understands that she has finally been born fully into the world.


	2. Underworld

The bible said that good souls would go to heaven, and that those beyond redemption go to hell, which was a place of endless torture. Mi'kmaq said that his father, who's name he inherited used to believe that good spirits would guide others towards their purpose in life, and that the spirits of those who were beyond redemption simply ceased to exist upon their mortal death.

The bible said that Eve was the first woman, and that through her sin all humans were banished from the garden of Eden and were cursed with painful childbirth, as well as with blood that came with the moon. Women were supposed to be obedient, and they were weaker both in mind and body.

Mi'kmaq, though he insisted that he was christian said that women were the most sacred of all because they were the portals through which spirits came to earth. The blood that comes with the moon is how her body becomes pure so that it may receive life.

During this time Acadia isn't supposed to touch the dream catcher that she and Canada share, or their rosary, because the energy flowing from her to the earth at this time are so powerful that it would drain the energy from those objects. There is no need for her to fast, or go to the sweat lodge as men do to cleanse their spirits so that they may receive wisdom, because she is already pure without those things. Mi'kmaq says that women must be consulted when going to war because only they can say if the suffering that would be endured is worth any reward they might receive.

Acadia wonders who is right. France or Mi'kmaq?

Mi'kmaq who was always by her side, through hard winters and warm summer? Who shared her land? Who taught her of the cycles of moon and stars, the art of hunting and catching dreams and of the guidance she was supposed to give to her people?

Or Papa, more infrequent, coming in summer and leaving with the first frost of fall? who's land was across the sea, a place where she had never been? The one who taught her of tools, of metal, of wheat and violins and poetry?

Frankly it was too much to think about. Mattheiu had it easier. Canada was a Catholic through and through. Though he did respect Mi'kmaq highly, and even let himself believe in dream catchers, giggle at the stories of trickster foxes and tremble at the warnings presented by the stories of the wendigo, he also knew that in his heart of hearts that wasn't what he represented.

They all believed in Jesus Christ. All three of them said their prayers in the soft tongue called Latin, and they all lived as their people lived, going to mass on Sundays, Easter and Christmas. It was simply a matter of how God chose to manifest within the world around them. If He chose to be there at all.

But really did that sort of thing matter? Some of the people who came to her land were called Protestants. They weren't allowed in France's land, but even so, most people just kept quiet about that they sometimes came to her place in secret. Acadia knew that Francis said that they were blasphemous, that they denied the power of the head of the church, but what difference did believing in one human man really make? If they could make it through their first winter, then what was stopping them from living as they pleased? Not God. Though she wasn't going to lie some of them couldn't. It was sad when people died over the winter, but it was reality, which was what Acadia was really most concerned with.


	3. Time

"Acadie!" Matthew hugged her tightly, and Acadia could feel him wince. Probably at how small she seemed to him. Now he looked about seventeen, all gangly limbs and startling slenderness towering nearly half a foot above her head.

But she knew something else had changed in the time they hadn't seen each other, and it wasn't age or appearance. She used to be robust with bright excited eyes, with a fast beating heart and sun-kissed skin that paled with winter and darkened with summer, perfectly adapted to the variable weather of her... their... home.

But now her heart beat slower against Matthew's embrace, and her cheeks were turned a harsh red with a seemingly permanent sunburn, a symptom of the hotter sun down south. But what disturbed her most was her eyes. They were so dull. So tired. No matter how much sleep she got, or the amount of jobs she let fall into the hands of others, she always felt exhaustion eat at her bones. Maybe it's because she's felt less and less need to eat lately, and when she does eat, nothing tastes like it should, that is to say, nothing tastes like much of anything at all, no matter how many spices she adds.

"Soeur?" Canada stated curiously, reaching out to grab the girl's hand. Acadia gave a huge smile in response, happy that their hands still fit perfectly after all these years apart.

"Bonjour Canada" Canada couldn't help but smile back, even though he could feel his sister starting to fade within his arms.

"Soeur... Why are you here? N-Not that I'm not glad to see you, but... I... I haven't seen you in so long.." Acadia felt a little shiver rush through her bones.

"I needed to give you something" Canada frowned.

"Give me something? Acadia nodded.

"My people... my land here... They're yours" Matthew felt his arms drop in shock.

"Wha... what?" Acadia frowned as well, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you not hear me?" Canada shook his head, tears starting in his eyes. Was this really his sister? The sister who's hair he'd helped braid, who had played tag and lacrosse and all sorts of other games when they were children, little northern colonies that no one really cared about?

"N-no... You don't need to do that... You'll... You'll be alright Soeur. You're always alright!" Acadia shook her head.

"I'm... My land in Louisiana is America's now" Now tears were starting in Acadia's eyes, much to her own annoyance as she wiped repeatedly at her face.

"you're... you're saying..." Acadia sniffled, her smile trembling.

"Je ne veux pas partir... mais...je ne peux pas demeure" Acadia hiccuped, because she can't feel her feet anymore, but Canada - perceptive as his is, as he always has been- gathered her up before she falls to the ground. Normally she would push away, protest against being carried in such a manner, but... she couldn't move. No matter how much she willed her arms or legs to move, all she could do was twitch her fingers and toes.

"Can we go to the bay?" Acadia mumbled, glancing up at her brother for permission. Canada nodded, weaving his way through the trees, coming eventually to a rocky beach, where nearly lavender waves pounded at the shore with a relentless fervor that somehow didn't match the cold gray of the sky. Acadia took a deep breath, but oddly, she smells nothing. Not the salt of the ocean in front of them, not the earth of the forest behind them, not the rocks below them.

"You want to go in.." Acadia isn't sure if it's a question or not, but it doesn't matter.. The ocean is calling her, in all it's fading colors, and since she can't walk herself, it's up to Canada. Canada who no longer has purple eyes, but merely the shape of purple eyes, and his blond hair, so wild from the wind is just shapes, no longer shades of gold. Despite her fascination with her fading world, she manages to pay attention enough to the conversation so that she can nod.

The water is cold. So much so that both Acadia and Canada scream out at its first touch. The waves batter them, nearly pull them under time after time, but they rise again and again, held above the crashing turbulent water by a sympathetic current. It is at this point that Acadia registers that her world has been reduced to only light and dark. the light of the muted sun, the darkness of Canada's shadow on her chest, the ever changing positions of light seafoam.

Then she sees nothing.

"Are you still cold Canada?" Acadia isn't. Either she has gone so numb that she can no longer even register the presence of her own body, or her sense of touch has faded away as well. Now that she really thinks about it, she realizes that it's the second one.

"O-Oui. T-the water is freezing!" Acadia wished she could nod in response, but she can't tell where her head is anymore. All she knows now is breath and heartbeat from both inside of herself, and from Canada as well as the crashing of waves. Sometimes those sounds become muffled, and are replaced by the deep groaning songs of whales.

They saying that her time has come. And come it has. She remembers ever so vaguely the clearing where she began, and now she knows that this is the bay where she will end . She hears Canada scream out of fear, and the trees and the earth rustling in anticipation, and all things rushing out of her, body soul, rushing into him. Maybe that's why he's screaming, because he suddenly understands what it is to be her, in every essence. In history, in body, and soul. All of the pain, and all of the joy she has ever felt leaves her like a river released from behind a dam.

Then there is nothing.


	4. Human

"you wanna hear about le grand derangement?" Jeannette raised an eyebrow, glancing at the man with a notebook. She'd never trusted men with notebooks. They always kept her words locked up with their writing, and told everyone as soon as they thought she wouldn't hear. but she always heard. The man nodded

"O-Oui.." his french is stuttering, and Parisian at that. Jeannette rolled her eyes. A noble stab at diplomacy, but Alfred's people had never been so amazing at that.

"I speak english" Jeannette stated shortly. The middle aged man blushed to the roots of his brown hair.

"Well, Miss... ah..."

"Jeannette. they not tell you my name?" the man shook his head again.

" , I was told by several in the village that this house was the best place to go for information about your people's expulsion." Jeannette chuckled.

"suppose ya could say that" The man nodded eagerly.

"I imagine talking about such things will be taxing for your grandmother but I'd-" Jeannette felt herself laugh for the first time in ages.

"my grandmere?" A couple more giggles escaped Jeanne as she shook her head.

"Sit down, I'll tell you a story if you like mr...ah.."

"Longfellow" the man offered.

"Well monsieur Longfellow, take a seat, this is a very long story" Acadia gestured towards her table and the chair beside it, rough hewn, but serviceable just like the other three pieces of furniture in her home. She'd made them a long time ago, against Oncle Espagne's insistence that she rest.

_Acadia felt a couple of whimpers escape from her throat. It had been nearly three months since this had begun, but it didn't mean that the burns that dappled her body were getting any better, and it didn't mean that the clenching of her heart lessened in the slightest. Her people were crying God damn it! Oddly enough, she felt no guilt for cursing, not even for cursing at God. Though She'd never exactly been accused of being the most pious of nations._

_She... She had the right to curse! She had the right to damn God, at least right children were sobbing, her mother's, her young women. As for her men and boys, who knew? They had been sent away the day before, but the heat under her skin told her that fevers were running amok among them as they traveled, huddled in the darkness no better than slaves. In the back of her mind, she could hear their moans building upon the sobs of those with her upon the shore._

_Acadia rose, fingering her rosary. Once this shore had been comforting to her... Where she had helped Mi'kmaq choose rocks for sweats. Where she had caught and dried so many fish, heard and told and made stories. Where she had played with Canada, and walked with Papa. Acadia felt more tears come to her eyes. And now it was the last bit of her own land that she would ever see._

_But what would happen to her now? With no land to call her own, would she disappear? Or would she linger with her people? Acadia shook her head, staring at the wooden dock beneath her feet. What use was it to wonder?_

_"M-madamemoiselle?" Acadia let her eyes slide to look at the young woman that had walked onto the dock. Her eyes and cheeks were tinted with red from crying, and wisps of hair escaped the young woman's bonnet. Acadia didn't respond. All she really wanted was to jump into the ocean, and let the current sweep her away. The water would be cold this time of year, maybe... maybe a weakened nation like her would freeze._

_"Madamemoiselle" Now the woman grabbed Acadia's hand. Acadia felt her eyes widen as pain rippled up her arm and over her entire body. The woman gasped, her hand pulling away fast as lightning._

_"T-Tu! tu te brule!" Acadia sighed. What could she say? What could she tell this poor woman, so tired, so sad and hopeless, that she was hurt?_

_"Maudits" The woman muttered darkly. Acadia allowed herself a small smile. Maudit was a good name for her brother and his soldiers._

_"ils ont pris Gabriel" The woman whispered, tears boiling in her eyes. Acadia felt a small pull in her chest. Gabriel. Just one of many missing sweethearts. The woman took her hand again gingerly this time, leading her away from the dock and back towards a small group who Jeanette could only assume were a part of the woman's family. The woman sat down on the ground, motioning for Jeannette to do the same. Acadia nodded softly, not yet feeling quite up to the task of speaking. The woman didn't comment on her silence, she merely guided Acadia with a soft touch at the shoulders to sit beside her as she whispered Hail Mary's in a voice more delicate than the winter's first frost._

_" tu ne vas pas prier?" Acadia shook her head slowly._

_"Je n'ai plus rien a dire" the woman frowned._

_"non. Tu as tant de choses a dire. Tu es la voix de Notre monde" Acadia blinked, tears building up in her eyes. This woman... How in the world could she know? The man who had been sent to inform her hadn't even looked her in the eye when he told her of Alfred's threats. Had taken her silence as permission to scurry away to his own family. But... This woman... Could she somehow know what she was? The woman pulled Jeannette into a soft hug, ever so careful not to disturb the nation's burns. more tears escaped from Acadia's eyes, as her imagination quickly turned the embrace of the woman into her Papa's embrace, which, though comforting simply served as a reminder that in fact, Papa failed to rescue her from this. Not that he had ever claimed to be able to._

_Not like Alfred who always wanted to be the hero of the story. Papa knew his limits, and never disillusioned her into thinking he was anything that he was not. He had never promised any sort of rescue, and now Acadia could see that it was out of kindness, because if Papa had said anything to give her even the slightest indication that he was coming for her, Acadia was fairly sure she would have come to hate him by now._

_the woman said nothing to comfort her. No words were needed. Just the rhythm of breath and heartbeat, like when she wasn't even born yet, before any sort of trouble existed in her world. the warmth and scent of wool clothing, the scent of her people, because they were still there, confused, shocked, scared but there, they would survive somehow. She would survive somehow._

_"You!" a soldier dressed in red yanked the woman away abruptly, pushing her onto a ship._

_Suddenly, the world seemed cold all over again. _

"And then?" Acadia blinked, looking curiously at the poet, who was at the edge of his seat an excited spark in his eyes.

"The woman... what happened to her? Did she ever find Gabriel?" Acadia didn't respond, memories hazy and soft in her eyes

"I see... thank you very much for sharing your grandmother's story" Longfellow got up from his seat, heading towards the door.

"It's not my grandmother's story. It's mine" The man blinked, obviously confused.

"B-but... you are not old enough to have-" Acadia laughed softly.

"Like she said. Je suis le voix de notre monde. The voice of our people... you ever met a man by the name Alfred F. Jones?" Longfellow blinked.

"You two share quite a resemblance"

"I'd think so... Bein' triplets an all." Longfellow's eyes widened with understanding.

"Good day miss" Acadia nodded softly. She hated talking about le grand derangement, though the old burns were nothing but scars now, they would always itch when she talked about it.

Even just an hour before Alfred had come with his soldiers, herding her people away and burning the villages they had vacated, just an hour before the first burns appeared on her skin, she had never thought that he would go through with it. Yes, he had said he would, but even if he was hostile and bratty and selfish and greedy, Acadia had never thought that Alfred would enough to go through with what he had threatened her with. Never had it crossed her mind that her little brother, her own flesh and blood, could ever be so cruel.

they weren't blood enemies. They were capable of living side by side in peace. They had lived in peace for the years of their childhood, trading with each other even though both England and France had forbidden it. But then France and England went to war. And like the good little pawns that they were in the chess game of European politics, they had fought each other simply because she was French and he was English.

At first anyways. Then the hatred became real. Then Alfred blamed her people for whatever he could. When he was attacked by Abeneki, it was her fault, because des sauvages listened to her and only she could rouse them into war against him. When the wars drained his trade, it was her fault because she could sell things for cheaper, because she had trade relationships with the tribes. Because she was catholic, because she refused to fight her father even though she was an English colony now, because of so many reasons both based in reality and in the paranoid delusions of their fathers, who could never be at peace with one another.

She'd never quite understood European politics, only that it would hurt her if she let it into her life. That was why she always did her best to play both sides of the field. Never quite loyal to England, never quite disloyal towards France.

Acadia only hoped that Longfellow would give the woman a happy ending, and a name so that she could thank something other than an image of a memory for giving her strength when she had needed it most.

**So, "monsieur Longfellow" is supposed to be the longfellow that wrote the famous poem Evangeline, which was about a young woman from Grand Pré, who was seperated from her fiancee Gabriel during the explusion of the Acadians (AKA le grand derangement) Though it was fictional, Longfellow did take the time to talk with families who had been victims of this incident as research for the poem. **

**the reason that I didn't give a name to the woman in the beginning is because Evangeline isn't actually a french name, so I decided that since the woman was nameless, and Longfellow wanted to tell her story, so he gave her the name Evangeline.**

**TRANSLATIONS**

**le grand derangement- translates to something akin to 'the great upheaval or great scattering**

**tu te brule- you are burnt**

**Maudits- the person/thing being described is gonna go to hell, 'damned one' is another way to describe it**

**ils ont pris Gabriel- they took Gabriel**

**tu ne vas pas prier?- you aren't going to pray?**

**Je n'ai plus rien a dire- I have nothing more to say**

**non. Tu as tant de choses a dire. Tu es la voix de Notre monde- no. you have many things to say. you are the voice of our people**

**Je suis le voix de notre monde.- I am the voice of our people**


	5. possessive

iAcadia closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The smell of burning sage and forest drawing itself into her lungs, as a prayer for guidance... for truth among all the rumors and the scant official word, slipped from her lips. With that she went on her hands and knees and entered the animal skin covered structure that was the sweat lodge. Immediately the heat stuffed itself down her throat, forcing a panting breath from her, and causing sweat to spring from her pores.

"Msit No'kmaq" usually Mi'kmaq's language didn't come to her as easily as French, but tonight the ancient language seemed to bubble up from some secret place within her, throaty and magical, just like when Mi'kmaq spoke it. She could feel the dirt floor beneath her as she crawled ( in a circle, just like Mi'kmaq had told her to do) until she reached her spot in the circle.

She couldn't see a thing. She could feel the ground beneath her, and smell the fire outside. She also knew that Masileet was just beside her, judging by the smell of sea salt, river and forest that emanated from her, and the bouncing of the flighty tribe's leg.

"We are beginning now" Mi'kmaq's voice seemed to mix into the steam that curled in damp tendrils against her with a soft hiss. Now prayers were being said, and another hiss echoed through the space, and a couple droplets of water hit her arm, their touch as indescribable and soft as when she had begun to feel, back in the clearing.

The cooling touch is temporary, but blessed nonetheless in this heat. Acadia swallowed, her throat feeling oddly sticky. Idly, she wondered if the rest of the wabanaki's were having as much trouble with the heat as she was. Yes, Masileet's leg was slick against Acadia's own, with what Acadia assumed was sweat as well, but Masileet's breath didn't sound particularly labored, and her fidgeting isn't any worse then normal. In fact, it had died down a bit as Masileet began to sing.

It wasn't singing in Acadia's European sense of the word, with harmonies and arpeggios and the rest. No. These songs came from deep within the body, warbled past vocal chords, deeper and richer than the European sounds that vibrated subtly in the lower half of the lungs, sometimes even within the cheekbones and slipped out like a slick fish.

The sounds they made came from even deeper with the body. Somewhere under the lungs, maybe in the stomach, perhaps even lower. They weren't sounds that Acadia could mimic with any degree of precision, but she still found them beautiful, and mystical, with their ancient stories and timeless vibrations.

Acadia took a deep breath, nearly coughing as the heated, waterlogged air settled heavily within her lungs, making her oddly light-headed, as if she hadn't bothered to take a breath at all. Maybe... maybe this wasn't such a good idea? Acadia was pretty sure that her body wasn't supposed to feel quite this detached... She can hear a couple of voices, very loud, and yet... so far away...

And suddenly, all she can feel is heat. Not the damp humidity of steam, no.. this was as if she had stuck her body into a fire. And screams... she could hear screaming... Who was screaming?! What was wrong?!

"Ekat..." The word faded out before it finished. But something was pulling her, and the air feels cool and flows into her without argument, sweet and refreshing, if a little bit smoky.

"Don't wake her" Acadia blinked... She was... outside again? But it was too bright to see now, so Acadia just let her eyes slip closed again. Her limbs still felt heavy and detached as Mi'kmaq, Masileet, Abaneki,Penobscot, and Passamaquoddy's voices echoed around, seeming to bounce every which way within her skull.

Acadia opened her eyes yet again, but this time was greeted by darkness.

"You're awake" Mi'kmaq stated, his voice, deep and comforting as always.

"I can't see" Acadia replied, pushing against the softness beneath her that she assumed was animal fur. Or at least attempting to before Mi'kmaq pushed her down again. Acadia noted that she was back her own clothing instead of the buckskin dress that Masileet had lent her for this occasion.

"Stay" Acadia frowned. She hated being confined... Not the staying in one place part of being confined. It was the inability to determine that for herself that angered her.

"It is dangerous for you return" Mi'kmaq rarely left room for her to argue, and now was no exception. His voice was curt and serious as his footsteps padded softly, far away and then closer.

"Drink" there was a slight, smooth pressure against Acadia's lips. Water slipped down her throat, smoother than silk and more sacred than the sun. Acadia swallowed greedily, wiping her face as little droplets escaped, leaving little trails of dampness to run away from her lips. Acadia lay back down. For as long as her sight was mysteriously missing Mi'kmaq would never allow her leave. Though, his home was nice... for some reason she didn't really even want to leave right now, even though her animals needed to be tended to, and the dikes needed to be checked

Another soft sound of Mi'kmaq shifting his weight. The tribe's hand, calloused and large and most of all cool, brushed against her forehead briefly.

"You never told me you were weak in the heat" Acadia felt her cheeks flame with even more intensity, the hair that she could feel sticking against her face becoming suddenly unbearably uncomfortable. Acadia shifted her body, hoping that she was actually turning away from Mi'kmaq, instead of just exposing her back to seemingly freezing air. Acadia felt her frown deepen as a shiver racked her body, her muscles seizing her bones, shaking her from the inside. Mi'kmaq let out a small sound, and there was a rustle as the blanket was pulled back over her. Acadia took a deep breath.

It was wool. It smelled just like the rest of Mi'kmaq's home. Like herbs and forest and fur. But there was the underlying scent of her home. Of salt-hay, of farm animals, of metal and wheat. She remembered this blanket. From when she was small, just a toddler in human years, not even tall enough to properly work a loom. She could feel the little loosening threads from both the age of the blanket and her own inexperiance. Acadia swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry again.

"Can I have some more water?" Acadia mumbled, pushing herself up again, despite the dizziness that made her mind sway ever so slightly.

"You didn't answer" Mi'kmaq stated, the bland sentence accompanied by curved pressure against her lips again. Acadia lifted her hands, finding the bowl, and holding it for herself. For a moment, the only sound was her own swallowing. Mi'kmaq chuckled, his hand covering Acadia's for a brief moment as he took the water away. Acadia huffed, groping blindly for the precious liquid.

"That is enough for now, Ekatie. lay back down" Acadia complied, trying her best to pout in Mi'kmaq's general direction though, judging by the chuckles coming from the exact opposite direction, she hadn't been on the mark.

"sleep" Again, there was little room for argument. Then again, the old tribe rarely let her ignore his medical advice.

"I just slept... I'm not tired" That was lie. There was nothing she wanted more then sleep... Or maybe some more water, but Mi'kmaq was withholding that. It was so hot though... her blood seemed to be boiling within her, heating her from the inside, pickling her skin.

"You are not good at lying Ekatie" Acadia huffed again, a yawn pushing out of her throat.

"I'm not lying" oh yes you are. Don't be so stupid Acadia, you know that Mi'kmaq is just as old as the earth itself, and he can tell when you lie. Even when you couldn't tell you were lying to yourself, he could. /i

Acadia wasn't all that sure of what happened that night. Or if it had been night in the first place. Honestly, she couldn't even be sure if it had happened at all at this point, or if all of that had been a dream. All she knew is that when she woke up, she wasn't home, and the smells around her weren't of sage or pine, or wool. What she smelled was the odor of varnished wood, and of cotton. and... paella?

**The ceremony described in this story is a sweat lodge ceremony, which is common among native american cultures, and is an element in Mi'kmaq culture as well. It is generally used to purify the body so that one will be able to communicate with the spirits, and receive guidance. **

**Also... the differences between Native American and European singing. because I had a really hard time fitting this in the flow of the story, even though it is actually pretty important. The Native American style of singing is very distinctive, using a generally lower range of notes, and using a totally different register then European singing. I'll do my best to explain, but it might not make sense to anyone who doesn't have a basic knowledge of head and chest register in singing. **

**Alright. So in European singing, warbling is generally kept to a minimum, and the sound is usually melodic and the range of notes is quite varied. (Of course there are exceptions to this) **

**The voice has two general registers in the European vocal style, the head voice, which is light, and as the name denotes, can be felt vibrating in what I call the "mask" (where a masquerade mask would sit) This is used to reach the highest notes, and from what I can tell is the preferred vocal style in English folk songs, which from what I've sung myself, have generally light and delicate melodies. to see what I mean, I recommend looking up "over the hills and far away" and "lavender's blue"**

**The chest register is slightly heavier, both in feel for the singer, and in sound, and is generally considered more powerful since it is much easier to get volume and general 'umph' with your chest register, though you can't get quite as high up with it. As the name says, when you sing with this register you can feel it vibrate in the chest. Depending on how low the notes that you're hitting are, the vibration will be lower and lower. Many traditional male French singers use this style of singing... A good example is actually France's character song oddly enough... **

**Now that we've got the European style down, let's move on to Native American. Like traditional Japanese vocals, it involves a bit of warbling, but unlike traditional Japanese songs, which are sung so far back in the throat (using the head voice) that a warbling is created from the sound traveling more from the nose, Native American songs (from what I have listened to) create a similar warbling, but with a very different method. **

**This warbling comes from the voice coming from so far within the chest that warbling is created. This is why many Native American songs (at least to me) more resemble chants then melodies. **

**The traditional Acadian vocal style falls somewhere in between, with male singers using both European melodies, and a bit of warbling (check out Réveille by Zachary Richard to see what I mean) female singers generally use the chest voice, and a generous amount of vibrato. (think Celine Dion for this one... yeah...I know. It's not exactly 'pretty') **

**Now as someone who is trained as a "European" singer, this sound is difficult, if not impossible to replicate. I've tried, but with only mild success. So I imagine that Acadia might not be able to keep up with Mi'kmaq in this respect. **

**Now that my singing rant is over... onto character rants. **

**I was trying to establish Acadia's connections to Mi'kmaq in this one... it's definitely got an element of hero worship, since the Mi'kmaq basically taught the french settlers how to survive, and provided for the trading post a Port Royal for it's first winter.**

**I imagine Mi'kmaq to be somewhat serious, not only because he's so old, but because from what I've been able to read about the culture and social structure of the Mi'kmaq tribes, it was considered favorable for a chief to have a serious demeanor. A personification is a leader of sorts, so I decided that Mi'kmaq would have a somewhat serious demeanor as well. **

**Mi'kmaq calls Acadia Ekatie, meaning 'place of' I've read in several places that the name 'Acadie" came from and mix of this word, and a shortening of the french term "Arcadie" meaning arcadia, or paradise. **

**The one solid trait I have down for Masileet right now is that she isn't likely to stay in one place for long. I base this not only on the nomadic nature of all the Wabanaki's but on the fact that many of this tribe refused to be put on reservations, simply because it would hinder said nomadic life style. **

**As for the rest of the Wabanaki tribes, I've got nothing... Also, when I say Wabanaki, I mean all the tribes within the Wabanaki confederacy, which are Abenaki, the Penobscot, the Maliseet, the Passamaquoddy, and the Mi'kmaq**

**also, the reason that Acadia smells Paella at the end is because this story is a sort of dream/memory that she is having as she recovers in Louisiana, with Spain (who was given that territory by France as a sort of thank you after the seven years war) **

**For once, I own almost everything! Acadia, my OC's for the Wabanaki's the only thing I don't own is the concept of personified nations which is a Hetalia thing... **

**I hope that you like?**


	6. Silence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Acadia bit her lip, lifting the sack with her clothing over her shoulder as her foot tapped at a frantic pace. It'd been nearly six weeks since she had gotten onto the ship back home from France, where she'd been signed off to England for the... what was it now? The fourth time? Either way, it didn't change all that much about her daily life. She'd just have to be more careful about visiting Canada for now. Even if the maps called her Nova Scotia, she was still Acadie, just like always. No matter who ruled over the tides came in and the dikes would be mended, and the crops would grow just the same.

To say that Jeannette wanted to be out of there was the understatement of the century. Not only was there no sunlight in the dark hold of the ship, but it smelled of seasickness and the inside of an outhouse all mixed up with heat and human sweat. She wanted to be home. Away from Europe and it's strange rules and stupid corsets.

She wanted to see her fields filled with salt hay, she wanted to breath in the scent of her cooking fire and feel the strength of her tides rushing into the bay. She wanted her steady soil beneath her feet instead of the pitching floor of the ship.

"Missy,we're docked" Acadia looked up at the crew member that had addressed her. It really was a good thing that she understood english, because no one on this ship would be able to communicate with her if she didn't. Acadia nodded and smiled as she sprinted past the man, not caring that she nearly knocked him over as she raced to the deck. True enough she could see Port Royale in all it's glory. Or rather, port Annapolis. That was what England called it right? Or was it Annapolis Royal?

It didn't matter though. She could hear the murmur of her citizens. She could hear French. Not Papa's flowery double entendres, or strange accents from that German kingdom that called himself Holy Rome. Just her french, simple calls of jokes and greetings, informal and loose interactions between friends instead of tense conversations with rivals. Acadia felt a smile split across her face as the gangplank was lowered onto the dock. her feet are tapping with excitement again, wooden shoes making a frantic rhythm against the deck as supplies got unloaded. When they finally let her off, she shot off like a spooked horse, laughing the whole way, which admittedly earned her some looks, but who cared?

She was home. Amongst her trees and her earth and her smells and sounds. Whenever she had talked above a whisper at those meetings Papa had told her to be quiet, that the silence would only make the times when she could talk all the sweeter.

"Ekatie" Acadia knew that language anywhere. Míkmawísimk.

"Mi'kmaq!" After months of being told to hush and listen, her voice isn't loud anymore, but Mi'kmaq's ears are always open for even the slightest sounds.

"Welcome home" For once Papa was right. Silence really did make her heart grow fonder.

**Mi'kmaq calls Acadie Ekatie. This word means 'place of' and I've read in several places that this term is where the word acadie comes from (as well as from the french "arcadie" meaning arcadia or paradise) **


	7. Last Light,Spirit of Mischief,Jack Frost

Acadia poked at the fireplace, letting the flames leap the log that she'd just added.

Speaking of logs.. shouldn't Alfred have been back by now? She'd only sent him to split the logs she'd collected earlier... even if he was shorter, he also had his freakish strength. And splitting logs was one of his least favorite chores so he was much more likely to get it done quickly as possible. Acadia frowned, peeking out the door.

the sun hovered just above the horizon, casting long shadows and an orange glow amongst the trees. Alfred was nowhere in sight. Acadia groaned. Of course he had to run off into the forest. Again. For some reason, one place was never enough for Alfred. He was always running off, exploring the backwoods west of her home, simply because he could. And if he hadn't come back by now... Jeanette let out a sigh. Why did he never bother to mark a trail back? Guess there wasn't much helping it now. Acadia grabbed a blanket off of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders for warmth, stepping out her door and into cold twilight.

"Bostonais!" No answer. Worry swirled in the pit of Acadie's stomach as she ventured farther into the trees, following the broken twigs, crushed frost and unsettled leaves that said that Alfred had been there.

"America!?"

"Nova Scotia!" The response was faint and twisted by the evening breeze, but the panicked tone of Alfred's voice made the off putting feeling in Jeannette's stomach harden into a heavy rock of worry.

Acadia broke into a run following both Alfred's voice and the trampled leaves, Not caring that cold mud was flipping onto her stockings which were slipping to her ankles and leaving her shins exposed to the wind

"Nova Scotia!" Alfred was in the middle of a frozen pond, a spiderweb of cracks spreading from under his feet.

"Tabernac" Acadia couldn't help the curse as she bit her lip. What was she supposed to do!? Surely the ice would break before she would be able to run for Mi'kmaq. Acadia glanced around. was there anyplace where the shore was close to Bostonais? No... he'd managed to place himself in the exact center.

Then there was a crack, echoing amongst the trees and darkening sky. Alfred's eyes widened in fear.

"Nova Scotia! Help!"

"J-just... stay still!" Acadia barked, glancing around. How could he get off the ice without breaking it? Surely he would fall through before she could run and fetch Mi'kmaq. Acadie's eyes finally fell upon a gnarled branch that bent like a fishing hook at the end. Parfait. Acadie tugged sharply the branch from it's residence on a gnarled little oak tree, nearly wincing at the crack. So this was a dead tree? Well.. Hopefully the hooked end would still be strong enough to pull Alfred to safety. Acadia rushed to the edge of the pond, holding out the hooked end of her branch to Alfred.

It was too short. Acadia bit her lip, placing a tentative foot on the ice. The cracking seemed to echo endlessly.

_Please don't fall through please don't fall through Alfred don't you dare fall through. _

Acadie shoved the stick out, hooking it around her little brother's waist and pulling back sharply, sending them both tumbling into the shore. Several moments passed like that. Just their clouding breath, and racing hearts. Alfred's ice cold cheeks pressed into her neck.

"N-Nova Scotia?"

"Can we go home now? It's really cold!" Acadie nodded, putting the blanket around Alfred's shoulders.

"Yeah. I made fish stew, so you'll warm up nice a quick"

"Fish again...?" Jeannette rolled her boy would never change.

**Tabernac- an explicative, used like fuck damn or shit in english**

**parfait- perfect**


End file.
